Strom the Cowardly Hunter
by ProjectMischa
Summary: Strom's family comes from a long line of excellent hunters, each with their own stories and legends passed down the generations. When the legacy has been officially passed down to Strom, he's less than excited about it. But when a mysterious virus spreads throughout the land and threatens the safety of multiple villages, will he finally rise to the occasion? Elements of 3U and 4U.
1. A Gem in the Snow

**Hey everyone! I'll be honest here, I've been wanting to write a Monster Hunter Fanfiction for the longest time, but I never managed to come up with a good story line or good characters that I wanted to use. I just recently got the inspiration to finally start one, and I'm super excited to kick start this story and get it going! I'm also playing with a few different elements in my writing. I usually write my stories in first person, but I'm playing with third person and a bit of fragmentation for this one. I actually used to write in third person most of the time until a few years ago, so it's almost like going back into my older writing pattern. XD Anyway, hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

A vast blanket of pure, pristine snow filled the land for miles on end, its depth and solidity unknown to all as a fierce storm flew in from the far north. The tundra was silent aside from the harsh howling of the winds as they passed. All creatures who lived in the icy realm huddled wherever they could, staying together to keep warm and being thankful for their tough skin and thick fur. Yet despite the frigid temperatures and the near empty landscape, slight movement could be seen through the endless blizzard. A small figure lurched forward on unsteady legs through the deep snow, passing a herd of tightly huddled Popos. The large, furry, mammoth-like creatures eyed the figure warily from underneath a rocky overhang painted white from the snow. They brought their young calves closer to the middle, taking a defensive stance as the figure drew closer to them.

A larger member of the herd let out a defensive warning huff at the swaying creature, noting that as it came closer it ended up only being a human male. What was alarming, however, was that the human wore a thick, brown coat that was recognizable to the beast as Popo fur. It feared that the human would attack the rest of the herd, given the attire it wore. The Popo lowered its shaggy head, fur covering its eyes slightly, as it pointed its large, curved tusks at the human in warning. The human paid little heed to the creature's antics, however, as it noticeably limped past the herd and ignored their location.

The alpha of the herd blinked in confusion. The human, upon wary inspection, was gravely injured. Jagged, nasty gashes tore through its coat, leaving trails of bright red blood all over its body. The blood was dripping onto the snow, forever staining the purity it once had held during this blizzard. What was odd, however, was the fact that the human male's blood took a slight violet tint to it as it escaped the human's injuries and left a trail.

Whatever had happened to the human made the Popo herd even more wary and alert in the confusing veil of flurries, causing the adults to move closer together to protect their young more efficiently. A larger, predatory monster obviously hunted the human. And if that human was limping away in such a sorry state, the carnivore was most likely trailing behind in tow, hoping to catch an easy meal. The Popos were afraid of what could lie ahead of them, but chose to stay in the warmth of the rocky overhang as the blizzard passed over them. They were ready to move at the first sign of danger, so much so that they collectively jumped back in fright as the human suddenly toppled over, falling flat on his face in the frozen snow.

* * *

Deep within a hidden alcove, in a large mountain range, rested a quaint little village. The buildings and houses scattered throughout were made of black stone due to that being the only building material the villagers could work with. And they certainly had an abundance of stone. Torches surrounded the village, strewn throughout the area to light everything in a warm, welcoming, orange glow. The entrance to the small village brought in bright, white light from the outside as small flurries of snow blew in occasionally. Outside the cave stood a vast expanse of tundra, the snow and ice stretching out for miles on end. And on the other side, where the cave rested, was a towering mountain filled with ridges and dips. The rest of the mountain range curved slightly around the entrance of the cave, forming a semi-protective barrier and created a natural crescent shape in the land.

But despite the seemingly remote location for a settlement, the village bustled with life. Children ducked and dodged gleefully under busy adults as they played an intense game of tag, nearly knocking over a few shelved goods in their havoc as the children reached the hub of the village. A merchant chided them angrily as they passed, but the little ones merely giggled and continued their game as the merchant fixed her stall while spitting out an excessive amount of unsatisfied grumbles.

This is where life thrived in the village. The village center was where everything and anything could be found. Merchants' stalls and shops were surrounding the center, creating a circular market district filled with various goods both from local and foreign sources. Restaurants sizzled and hissed with the constant sound of food cooking, the delicacies' scents wafting throughout the area and effectively making passing villagers' mouths water. A single stone inn sat nestled between a bustling restaurant and one of the larger shops, providing shelter for the few travelers that would occasionally stumble across the remote village.

Surrounding the market district were the houses the natives lived in. Like the other structures of the village, the houses were made of rich, black stone for the walls and the rooftops. Some of the richer buildings, however, were decorated with glistening gemstones found from the mines within the mountain caverns. At the entrance of the cave stood the village's stable, the structure holding the town's tamed cattle and transportation. Large, docile Popos were nestled comfortably in the pens and stalls, munching on their hay in content. Beside the stable were a few caravans for travel, allowing the residents to safely traverse the frigid tundra for trade and other business.

And in the very center of it all, what truly brought a sense of vitality to the village was a large, stone basin with a great tower of fire inside. This brought much needed warmth to the cave, and gave off the biggest source of the warm glow that graced both the villagers and the village itself. Here was where the villagers would gather for gossip and the newest, riveting hunting tale from their local monster hunters. This was where they would celebrate just about anything that could possibly be celebrated. This was where the children would gather and tell each other horrifying stories when they thought their parents weren't paying attention. This livelihood emanating from the settlement, the excitement in people's eyes, the joy, the seemingly easy survival of these people, and the gems and furs they sent out into the world were what made Morden Village such an alluring and enchanting place. It was, as the villagers liked to dub it, "humanity's hidden gem" in an otherwise inhospitable landscape.

Just as the villagers had settled into doing their various routines for the day, a large, looming figure entered the village, bringing with him a bout of snow that had clung onto his boots. He stamped his feet for a brief moment, the sound of metal clanking against rock echoing through the cave, before moving forward into the village. As he passed the villagers, adults gave him looks of respect and reverence while children stopped their game to look up at the armored figure in wonder and amazement before excitedly crowding around him when he neared the great bonfire.

The hunter took a seat at the edge of the basin, the stone structure having a large enough rim to allow people to safely sit beside the fire. The hunter's white scaled and furred armor shone a bright orange in the firelight he was so close to, giving him an almost ethereal glow about him that mystified the children even more. He took off his helmet adorned with deep, orange tusks acting as horns and revealed a tanned, aged face that naturally commanded the respect of his peers. A ragged scar ran over his left eye, leaving it blind compared to his other piercing blue one. His long, silvery gray hair was held back in a tight ponytail, giving him an almost militaristic appearance. As his stern face was revealed, the children almost instantly quieted their begging and looked at him expectantly.

He glanced at the children with a sweeping, stern gaze before his expression suddenly broke out into a wide smile. "Lookin' for a story, are ya?" he asked in a gruff, gravelly voice. The children nodded excitedly, looking up at him with gleaming, innocent eyes. The hunter chuckled and gently ruffled the black hair of a little boy who stood waiting at the front of the crowd, "Sorry, kids, nothin' new today. Nothin' interestin', anyway." A collective, disappointed groan rang through the small crowd, all of them had put their hopes into hearing a new monster story from their local hero. One of the younger kids stuck out her lip in a sad, pitiful pout. "Don'chu' 'aww', me," the hunter said firmly, "Go on, now, git! I'm sure ya have somethin' better to do." The children all sighed before scampering off and resuming their little game of tag.

A village elder watching the whole spectacle chuckled in amusement, her eyes wrinkled in mirth. She shuffled forward, her back hunched over slightly from age as she used an intricately engraved cane to help steady herself as she walked. A colorfully dyed Popo fur shawl was draped around her shoulders, decorating her otherwise normal village clothes. The hunter stood up and dipped his head to her respectfully, honoring the chieftain of Morden Village. "Back from the hunt, I see," the village chief said with a surprisingly youthful grin, "Did you get the materials we needed, Varick?"

The hunter nodded, "That I did," he proclaimed, handing over a large sack filled with various ores, furs, meat, and bones to the chief, who looked over the contents before nodding in approval. "Had a bit of a run-in with a Lagombi while lookin' for the stuff, wasn't too much of a problem, but it would'a been a good experience for my son." The hunter scratched his chin in thought, "Speakin' of which, where'd he scamper off to?"

"I saw him on his way to the stables when I ran into him earlier," the chieftain replied simply in her raspy voice, "Maybe you should check there. I'll start getting these materials out to the villagers, see if we can work on repairing the mine carts."

"Need any help?" Varick asked.

"No, no, you've done more than enough already. Besides," the chief added with a grin, "I'm tougher than I look. Can't run a village in this kind of environment leniently, can you?"

Varick laughed heartily, "No, ya can't, ma'am. I see yer point. Lemme know if ya need anythin' else. I'll head on over to find my son." At that, the two parted ways and the gruff hunter made his way back up towards the stables, as the chieftain suggested. Sure enough, as he neared the stables, a young man sat almost gingerly beside an elderly Popo, petting its fur gently as he spoke softly to it. The Popo itself was content by the company, closing its eyes and resting its weary head. Varick came to a halt in front of the young man, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking at the sitting figure in slight disapproval. The man looked up as he realized the hunter's presence, revealing a wide-eyed face that was almost the exact spitting image of Varick, minus the scar and replacing the controlled, pony tailed hair with white, loose, shoulder length locks.

The young man quickly stood up, resulting in a small, irritated huff from the disturbed Popo, and stuttered, "O-Oh. . . H-Hey, dad," he said slowly, glancing between the shifting Popo and the tough-looking hunter. "I-I was just . . . making sure Siluk here had hay and all," he continued quietly and nervously, carefully pointing towards the elderly Popo that had quickly resumed munching on feed.

Varick sighed, unable to help showing his disappointment in his son, "Boy, here I was thinkin' ya had snuck away into the tundra to finally buckle down n' become a hunter." He shook his head slowly, his gaze making his son shrink away slightly and look tinier than he already was, "But here ya are, shrinkin' away from yer responsibility again." Varick cleared his throat with a hefty grunt, "All right, what's yer excuse this time?"

The young man stammered, "I-I was . . . S-Siluk needed-"

"Siluk don't need anythin', boy, that's what the stable hands are for. Gotta do better n' that."

"I-I. . ." The man seemed to stop himself, at a loss for words, before sighing in defeat, "It's cold outside, too cold to waltz around out there. . . And there're a lot of bad things in the tundra, n-nasty things," his stutter became worse as he continued, "l-like that Great Baggi w-with the sleeping spit, o-or the Lagombi trying to t-throw giant snowballs at you, or t-the G-Gigginox, o-or t-the . . . the B-Barioth. . ."

Varick sighed, while the fear of the cold was completely and totally ridiculous considering that everyone in the village wore furs and carried hot drinks everywhere for a reason, the fears about the monsters were fairly sound, especially to defenseless villagers and novice hunters. To be honest, most tundra monsters were nasty, making the freezing climate less than ideal for beginner hunters. And, Varick had to admit, a fear of the cruel white drake known as the Barioth wasn't extremely far-fetched. That creature gave even experienced hunters a hard time. Hell, Varick had a complete armor set made out of the beast and he was still a little fearful of it! He focused on his son again as the soft-spoken man continued, "I-I'd just get e-eaten alive. . ."

Varick looked at him sternly, "Strom," he said with a firm voice, snapping his son out of the fearful daze he had left himself in, "ya honestly think I'm gonna let a couple o' beasties just gobble ya up? I wouldn't be much of a hunter if I let that happen to my own son, now, would I?"

Strom stared at his father with hesitant white eyes before shaking his head slowly, "N-No," he said quietly.

"Exactly! I'm more n' capable o' protectin' ya should somethin' nasty come across. Have a lil' faith in me, Strom. I wouldn't let anythin' happen to ya."

Strom nodded slowly, sighing quietly, "I-I know. . ."

"Which is exactly why I'm gonna take ya out on a hunt tomorrow!" Varick boomed, giving Strom a hardy slap on the back and unintentionally causing the boy to flinch a little from the impact.

"T-Tomorrow?" Strom stuttered with an uncertain gaze.

"Tomorrow," Varick confirmed, "And don'chu even think about sneaking out on me again, boy. I'm good at trackin', and I'll personally drag yer sorry behind outta the cave if that's what it takes to get ya huntin'. Understand?"

Strom nodded slightly, unable to help his head droop a little in both fear and dismay. "Yeah. . ."

"Good! Then ya best find yer huntin' armor and that weapon ya picked out. We're leavin' first thing in the mornin'. You'll be fine."

* * *

"No, I won't be fine!" Strom exclaimed to himself once his father escorted him to his hut that, unfortunately, just so happened to be right next to his parents' dwelling. Strom had been mulling over the dread of him finally having to hunt the whole way home, his father continuing to tell him how he'll do great and won't have any problems. Hello?! Did his dad even _see_ how many hunters returned from the wild with broken bones and unspeakably horrifying gashes?! Strom's even seen his own tough-as-nails father return home with a decent amount of damage to him after some particularly nasty hunts. And Varick always returned from a Gigginox hunt with _tons_ of venom pumping through his veins.

It was practically a given that Strom, a tiny man who couldn't even take a simple pat on the back, would die an unspeakably horrible death within the first ten seconds of exiting the cave. Okay . . . maybe that was a _bit_ of an exaggeration, but only slightly. In reality, Strom could only hope that when they got into the field the larger monsters would think him too scrawny for a proper meal and would ignore him for larger threats. Unfortunately, even if that did happen to be the case, many monsters were exceptionally violent or territorial. Or both.

"That's it!" Strom continued after dwelling more on the subject, "I'm finished! Doomed! Dead! If the monsters don't kill me, my dad certainly will! Dammit all!" He kicked an empty basket nearby, not paying attention to where the basket had launched until a surprised meow suddenly sounded, following with a crash that could've been comical had Strom not been so stressed.

A small, cream-colored shape tumbled out of the rolling basket, letting out a mew of surprise and startling Strom slightly. The furry cat lay still there for a few moments before hopping up swiftly onto its hind legs and shaking its head. "Meowch! I landed on my bum!" the Felyne said, rubbing its hindquarters with a brown paw.

Strom looked at the pint-sized creature in guilt. He didn't mean to startle the little guy; he didn't even realize that the Felyne was there. Strom still needed to get used to the fact that hunters, even novice hunters, always had a Felyne to watch their houses during quests and help with the upkeep for everything. Strom was only recently introduced to the one in his home since he became an apprentice hunter a few days ago, and he had already managed to startle the poor thing. His so-called hunting career was going off to a great start. "S-Sorry, Zopa. . ." Strom said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Zopa looked up at the hunter with big, blue eyes, "No, no," he insisted, "it's purrtially my fault fur taking a nap in the basket, nya."

"B-But you still got hurt," Strom said.

Zopa chuckled, the sound being more along the lines of quiet, staggered mewing, "Purrlease, I can handle more than a little kick." He stood up as straight as he could, puffing out his chest proudly, "Us Felynes can be excellent meownster hunters when we wanna be, nya!"

Strom couldn't help but find that a little hard to believe considering the fact that the little cat barely came up to his knee when he stood up to his full height. Sure, they were known to accompany hunters on hunts sometimes, but a Felyne taking on a monster alone? He decided not to voice his doubts, however. "Still . . . didn't mean t-to s-s-startle you."

"All is furrgiven," Zopa assured him, "As long as you purrdon me for asking why you wanted to kick a poor, unsuspecting basket, nya?"

"Oh, t-that. . . W-Well you see. . . I-I'm just really s-st-stressed."

"About what?"

Strom hesitated for a moment before deciding to pour out the entire truth to the Felyne. After all, he had a right to know considering the small scare Strom gave him earlier, whether Zopa admitted that or not. "Hunting," He said with a heavy sigh, "My dad wants me t-to g-go hunting with him t-t-tomorrow, a-and there's nothing I c-can do to get out of it."

"Why would you want to get out of hunting? It's considered an honorable purrfession, nya."

"T-That's what my dad says," Strom said, "b-but hunting t-t-terrifies me! Y-You could s-so easily get e-e-eaten or w-worse. It's t-too dangerous for someone l-like me!"

"You could just tell him that you don't want to hunt," Zopa said with a small shrug.

"A-Are you insane?!" Strom nearly shouted in shock, causing Zopa to jump slightly at Strom's obviously unexpected outburst. ". . .S-Sorry," Strom apologized again, "I g-got a little c-carried away there. . ." He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and to soothe his stutter, "I wish I-I could back out of h-hunting as easy as that, I really do. B-But my family, unfortunately, h-happens to have a l-long line of great hunters. I-I can name a few ancestors of m-mine that have d-done borderline legendary d-deeds in their time.

"S-Strength apparently r-runs in my family. M-Monster hunting is the f-family tradition. It's a j-job that at least one p-person for e-each generation takes up. A-And my dad b-believes I can b-be a g-great hunter if I-I just buckle d-down and do it." He sighed and sat down on the edge of his soft cot, "B-But I can't do it! I'm too afraid, a-and there's s-so many p-people that count o-on you. . . I-I'd just l-let them all d-down and g-get people hurt. I-I'm not s-strong enough or brave e-enough. But m-my dad t-thinks it's my d-duty to take up hu-hu-hunting, to c-continue the legacy e-even if I'm a c-c-coward. And it's n-not like I c-can r-run away from it, e-either. T-That'd require l-leaving the c-c-cave w-where a-all the monsters a-are."

Strom paused and glanced at Zopa, trying to gage the furry creature's expression and finding only a pondering look on the Felyne's face, "S-So you uh-uh-understand my predicament, r-right?"

Zopa stared at the novice hunter for a few moments in silence before licking his paws and smoothing out his fur. "A little," he admitted, "but I still don't see why you can't just tell him the truth, nya."

"I-I tried. But e-every time I would t-tell him t-that I didn't w-want to h-hunt, he'd just g-give me a b-big lecture on h-how hunting is e-extremely important to t-the s-safety of h-humanity and how it's the p-pride of our f-family. He's all a-about honor a-and tradition. I c-cant reason with h-him when h-he believes t-that I'll b-become a g-great hunter l-like him."

"At least it seems like he has faith in you, which is more than you can say for yourself, nya. Meowbe if you go out there for a little bit and try hunting, you could gain some courage, nya?"

Strom looked at Zopa as if he was crazy, "A-And risk g-getting e-eaten? Hell no!"

"Well, this constant worrying isn't helping you, is it?" Zopa chortled slightly, "You said your dad was a great meownster hunter, right? If he is, he's not gonna let you get eaten so easily, nya."

"I-I guess so," Strom said with uncertainty. He still wasn't feeling good about the whole endeavor, though, "But w-what if-"

"No buts!" Zopa interjected, "Even if you don't think you're cut out for hunting, it's good to at least try and see for yourself if what you think is true, nya. Meowbe you need more faith in yourself, like your dad has. Besides, meownsters are everywhere, no changing that. It'd be good to at least know how to defend yourself, especially when you live as far away from civilization as we do, nya?"

"Yeah," Strom replied with a sigh. He glanced at his sword and shield gifted to him by his father. It rested beside a large box that was meant for holding all of the monster materials a hunter would get during their career. Obviously, Strom's box was empty. The weapon itself was in mint condition, its metal blade shining in the firelight that lit his room. Unused, same as the basic hunter's armor his father had bought him. All of that would change come tomorrow, his blade would get its first taste of blood, and there was no doubt in the cowardly hunter's mind that he'd get quite a few scratches in his armor.

Strom rested his back on the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling of his home, eyeing the dark corners that his warm torchlight failed to reach. He was still incredibly stressed about what could possibly happen tomorrow. A lot could go wrong, you know. However, he did have to admit that what the little Felyne had said to him comforted him at least a little. And if a Felyne could hunt down monsters, maybe Strom didn't have as bad of a chance at monster hunting as he had originally thought. Though, there wasn't any real use dwelling on it now, even though he lived in a cave, he could still tell when the sun was starting to go down. It gave the village a darker orange glow than any other time of the day. It'd only be a mere few hours before Strom would have to test his metal against monsters. He'd need all the rest he could get.

"T-Thanks for the t-talk, Zopa," Strom said quietly as he closed his eyes for sleep.

"You're welcome, Meowster."

"P-Please, j-just call me Strom."


	2. First Lessons

**Hey everyone! Gaah, I know, it's been over a year since I updated anything at all I'm sorry! But I finally have something written for you all. It's been a hectic year, lots of preparations, but I'm done giving excuses now XD I had been working on this chapter for a while now but I was stuck on how I wanted to finish it or continue it until recently, so I hope you enjoy this update.**

 **Also I've already started the next chapter so hopefully I don't make you all wait a year until I update again like I have a really bad habit of doing. I need to stop that XD  
**

* * *

"Rise n' shine, hunter!" a strong voice boomed rambunctiously, startling Strom out of his fitful sleep and causing the surprised boy to fall out of his bed and land on the hard floor.

"Agh!" Strom grunted, snapping his eyes open as he made the impact. He looked up and the first thing he saw was his father, pristine Barioth armor and all, giving him a toothy grin at the fall in obvious amusement. Strom stood up, brushing himself off before rubbing whatever sleep was left from his eyes, "Did y-you h-have to g-give me a personal w-wake up call, d-dad?" he asked almost irritably, not exactly enjoying the rude awakening.

Varick chuckled and nodded, the grin still plastered all over his face, "Damn right I did, boy! How else am I gonna git ya to wake up on time?"

"Y-You c-could have Z-Zopa wake me up," Strom mumbled.

His father laughed, "We tried that! Ya slept right through it! I figured ya needed somethin' a lil' louder to do the trick," he glanced at the cream-colored Felyne who was watching the spectacle in mild amusement, "Looks like I was right, eh?"

Zopa nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into a tiny grin, "It appears so! Meowster Strom sleeps deeper than I thought, nya. Didn't even notice when I sat on him!"

Strom looked at his housekeeper in unfiltered shock, "Y-You sat on me?"

Again, the Felyne nodded, "It was a last resort! I tried telling you to wake up, and then I tried tapping you before giving up and deciding to sit on you, nya. You slept through it all, so I asked Varick fur help!"

Varick chuckled, scratching his scruffy chin in contemplation, "Looks like we'll hafta set up some kinda alarm system. Somethin' loud, obviously. Hunters need to wake up early so they can git the most outta their huntin'. You gotta git used to wakin' up 'round this time." Before Strom had any time to react to what his father said, Varick gave him a hardy slap on the back, causing Strom to tumble forward slightly before regaining his balance. "But that doesn't matter right now! We got some huntin' to do! Go git yer armor on and meet me at the restaurant over by the smithy. Ya know the one, right?"

Strom nodded slowly, "I-I think so, but w-why a-are we going t-there?"

"For food! A hunter's gotta eat!" Varick said with a grin, "Can't go killin' monsters on an empty stomach, now. That's yer first lesson, boy!" He paused for a moment, ". . .Or maybe waking up early was the first lesson. . . Ah, screw it! We don't need to be puttin' all that in a list, it's common sense. Ya just hafta remember that eatin' before goin' out on yer hunts is extremely important. It gives ya that much needed energy boost!"

Strom looked at his father dubiously, "B-But can't y-you just use t-th-the meat you get o-off of m-monsters for f-food? W-Why pay for it?"

"Well, ya could do that, but unseasoned Popo meat is just bland to all hell. Not exactly the tastiest thing to eat on its own. Besides, it doesn't seem to have the same kick that a complete meal has, ya know? Not to mention there's that whole issue of accidentally burnin' the food on yer own. . ." Varick shook his head definitively, "Too much work! It's much better to just let the chefs cook for ya."

"P-Point taken."

"Well, on that note, I'll let ya git yer gear on 'fore I talk yer ears off. Ya know where to find me." Varick turned to leave, his armored boots leaving a confident clicking noise behind as he walked. As soon as he reached the entrance to the stone hut, however, he paused for a moment, an expression of consideration crossing the hardy hunter's face before he turned back to look at his son. "One more thing, I checked with the watchmen before wakin' ya up. They're fairly certain that we won't be runnin' into any large monsters today. Should be a breeze for yer first day." Then he strode out the door, heading south down the dark, cobblestone path.

Strom watched as his father left, a mixture of awe and uncertainty on his face, before he let out a huge sigh and buried his head in his hands. Today was the day. Today he finally had to go out into the deathly-frozen tundra and do what his father wanted him to do for the longest time. Hunt. It was an experience he had dreaded ever since he learned about the low life-expectancy rates of monster hunters. Any hunter who managed to make it to retirement without getting into a career-ending accident or flat out dying was either incredibly skilled or extremely lucky. Strom knew for a fact that he was neither of those things.

He also knew that a lot could still go wrong during this outing. Even if Morden's watchmen were skilled and fairly accurate with monster predictions, a large monster could still easily pop up out of nowhere. And Strom knew that he wasn't nearly prepared enough for a random large monster attack if that happened. There was too much risk involved for him to ever feel comfortable about going out into the tundra, especially since his particular homeland was notorious for having the nastier monsters in the world. All of these thoughts swirling around the novice hunter's overwhelmed little head was enough to make him want to curl up and hide away with Siluk again.

The crisp sound of a throat being cleared obnoxiously loudly made Strom look up from where he was sulking, and he immediately met the stern, blue gaze of Zopa when he did. It was almost a warning look, practically telling the novice hunter that he couldn't back out of an outing this time. It made him remember his discussion with Zopa last night, and Strom took a deep breath to calm himself down. He needed to at least try this time before backing out, especially since he hadn't even gone out into the field this whole time. Besides, his father's threat of literally dragging him out into the tundra if he tried to sneak away lingered in the back of his mind. There wasn't really much of a choice for him.

Strom crossed the room to his red equipment box that rested on the opposite wall to his cot. He reached in carefully, taking the unused armor out and quickly putting it on. He found that the brown, scaled leather was tough and awkward to move in from lack of use, and the few, shiny steel plates that both added visual appeal and extra protection didn't make movement that much easier. It was also a little heavy, but Strom supposed he would eventually get used to the extra weight after wearing the armor for a little while. After he rolled his shoulders back experimentally to get used to the feel of the armor, he picked up a nearby leather pouch and peeked at the contents inside. Within the pouch rested the basic necessities of monster hunting, including a few vials of green potions, some hot drinks, whetstones for his blade, and a few paintballs. He could only assume that all of this was courtesy of his father, and anything else that he could possibly bring with him on the hunt would have to either be bought or made by himself. He tied the item pouch to his fur-lined waistcoat, then picked up and sheathed his steel sword and strapped the accompanying shield to his arm.

He was finally ready to head out and meet his father after he took a few more steadying breaths, but he couldn't help the feeling of unease trickle through him as he stepped out of his hut and headed down the cobblestone street. The shocked stares he got from passing villagers as he walked only furthered his unease and made him feel uncomfortable. They obviously weren't expecting to see Strom wearing hunter's gear anytime soon, if at all. He was certain the majority of them thought he'd never even take up hunting, despite Varick's insistence. Strom did his best to ignore the strange looks and little whispers he got as he hurried down the street and past the village houses, soon breaking out into the town center, much to his relief.

It didn't take long for him to work his way toward the blacksmith's. The small, stone shop came into view shortly after he walked east along the edge of the market district. As he passed the roaring hot flame of the forge, a rough, almost gravelly voice called out to him. "Finally wearing that hunter's armor, I see."

Strom stopped, jumping slightly at the sudden voice before turning to meet the owner. There, leaning against a sturdy iron anvil, stood an incredibly short humanoid figure, his jade, leathery skin wrinkled with such age that it left his eyes in a permanent squint. "Y-Yeah, I-I guess I am," Strom said quietly to the Wyverian blacksmith, unconsciously shrinking a little at the comment. He wasn't exactly fond of the stares he was getting from his fellow villagers.

"How're ya likin' it?" the blacksmith asked. A large, toothy grin was spreading across his features as he spoke, deepening the wrinkles on his face.

"Oh, um, i-it's . . . i-it's great, I guess," Strom said quietly, rubbing the back of his head demurely, "Kind of h-hard to m-move around i-in. . ."

"S'how it is with most beginner armor. Unfortunately, the guild made it standard issue ta git ya used ta the feelin' of runnin' around in armor like that. Good armor feels more like a second skin than anythin' else." The elderly artisan puffed out his chest proudly, swinging his comically large hammer up to rest on his right shoulder, "Rest assured, any armor _I_ make fer ya won't be so awkward or squishy."

The timid hunter looked at him with wide eyes, "Y-You didn't make this, Sindri? I-I thought my d-dad h-had commissioned this. . ."

Sindri let out a huge, bellowing laugh that startled Strom a little. Someone who looked so petite and fragile shouldn't be physically able to let out such a sound, yet he was filled with untapped energy. "Me? Make that junk? Please! I only make _my_ armor outta the best materials ya can find. That armor there couldn't even hold its own fer very long against a Great Baggi."

This only made Strom's spirits sink even lower than they already were at the start of the day. Hearing how flimsy and low quality his armor was did not help in the slightest to ease his fears of today's approaching outing. It was official. Strom would die. "Y-You're s-saying that d-d-dad just g-gave me the w-worst armor I c-c-could get?"

"I wouldn't say the _worst_. Just not the _greatest_. The worst armor ya could get is none at all. At least what yer wearin' now will give ya some protection."

"B-But if . . . i-if the Hunter's G-Guild makes this st-st-standard issue, sh-shouldn't they b-be able to g-give out better quality a-a-armor? Wouldn't t-that make new hunters, oh, I don't k-know, l-live longer?"

Sindri shrugged rather nonchalantly, "Quality over quantity?"

Strom instantly grimaced, placing a hand on his forehead. He felt as if he was going to pass out at any moment. Impending doom would come sooner than he anticipated. "T-That's horrid. . . T-This s-system is just – it's entirely sc-screwed up! That's what it is!"

"Hey, I don't make the rules, kid. I just make stuff. Ya want good armor? Go out and get the materials fer it. _Earn_ yer armor. That's how it works 'round here."

"B-But what's the point of earning b-better a-armor if you d-d-die before you can e-even wear it?"

"Death at that stage isn't likely," Sindri said simply, as if he wasn't just debating life and death situations with the trembling mess before him, "Ya _do_ know they have countermeasures for when things git really bad, right? And this early in yer career means that yer less likely to run into the nastier beasts."

"A-And if I-I do h-happen to run into a n-nastier m-monster?"

The blacksmith's jovial expression quickly turned into a serious one, all signs of mirth had vanished from his face, "Well, kid, I suggest ya git _really_ good at dodgin'."

Strom's expression fell to pure, unmasked dismay at the very notion of such a suggestion. Sure, dodging and running away wouldn't be too difficult, the young man could probably even not-too-proudly proclaim those two actions to be specialties of his, but the meaning behind Sindri's advice carried much too heavy a weight for the timid hunter. "T-That's. . . that's w-wonderful," he whispered softly, unable to muster a louder noise than that.

The little artisan had continued his work as if he didn't hear or see Strom's reaction to what he had just told the man, "Ya best git on over ta yer father 'fore he gits impatient with ya."

"D-Do I have to. . ?"

"Of course ya do! I have work ta do, kid, I can't have ya distractin' me all day. Gotta git this hammer finished fer yer father."

* * *

Breakfast that morning was tense and silent, at least for Strom. He and his father sat at a stone, round table, gigantic plates of food placed in front of them. After the young man had inspected his large portion of earthy Moss Pork for hair balls (he didn't entirely trust a Felyne's ability to keep their fur out of the food they made), he began slowly picking apart the meat. It was a little grisly, the texture of the moss was akin to licking paper, but other than that, the meat tasted good. Well-seasoned and still juicy, as meat should be. He quietly chewed his meal as Varick excitedly droned on and on about the upcoming hunt through a mouthful of Dragon meat. His father had the manners of a barbarian.

Strom, who would usually remind his dad of his horrible table manners, was preoccupied with staring at the ridiculously large slab of meat on his plate, gnashing his teeth contemplatively. Was this to be his last meal? Stringy, mossy meat? Wasn't the best of last meals, but at least it was something. The monster who ate him would certainly appreciate the extra nutrients, he supposed. He briefly wondered what his gravestone would look like. What would it say? He imagined something like: Here lies Strom, the hunter who sucked at hunting. Granted, this would only be if he even _had_ anything left to bury.

The young man exhaled softly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He really needed to stop thinking about those things, it'd just make the feeling of dread even worse than it already was. Quickly, the greenhorn shoveled the last piece of Moss Pork into his mouth, finishing off the potential final breakfast of his life. He only hurried upon noticing that his father was already done with his own oversized plate of meat. How hunters ever managed to eat that much food that fast and not get a stomach ache was completely beyond the boy.

"Ya ready to head out?" Varick asked with a wide, toothy grin. The pure pride on his face only made matters worse.

Strom knew that he wouldn't be able to verbalize his answer, so he just nodded.

Varick gave him the traditional hearty slap on the back, the one that always caused the slender man to stumble slightly, and then the hardened warrior laughed boisterously, "Good! Should be a calm day today like I told ya this mornin'."

The young man sighed, the tension in his stomach easing a little. If there were no monsters, it couldn't be that bad, right? He followed his father to the entrance of the cave, walking up the cobblestone path. Metal boots clicked on the stone, reverberating through the secluded village. "S-So," Strom started, wanting to break the silence, "if w-we aren't gonna r-run into l-large m-monsters, wh-what are we h-hunting?"

"A very elusive species o' creatures," Varick said with a sly grin, rifling through a big pile of various tools next to the cave entrance, beside a large torch. "Most people know 'em as -" he dropped a large, iron pickaxe into Strom's arms "- rocks."

Strom buckled under the sudden weight, nearly dropping the tool cradled in his lanky forearms. "W-We're mining? All d-day?"

"Yup! Monster huntin' ain't all just about huntin' monsters, boy."

"W-What? B-But . . . isn't th-that literally the j-job title?"

"Well . . . yeah, but that ain't all we do, kiddo. Sometimes we go out huntin' for materials. Plants, ores, insects, the whole deal. Kinda need to so ya can make yer own tools, or strengthen up yer armor or weapons. New hunters like you will spend most of their time gatherin' stuff for later." Varick paused and added, "At least all the smart ones do."

Strom let out a huge sigh of relief at that. There would be no _actual_ monster hunting for a while, then. Could they just gather materials forever? The greenhorn hunter would certainly appreciate that more. Just think how nice and safe it would be, hunting through the lands, searching ferociously for all sorts of herbs, small bugs, and ores, bringing them all back to people who needed them. He could be a hero in a different way! Strom: the Mighty Plant Hunter! Had a nice ring to it.

"Doesn't mean ya won't still run into monsters, though," Varick added, banishing Strom's pleasant fantasy to the dark chasm of his mind, "I mean, there's a reason them casual folks don't go out gatherin' stuff themselves. Too dangerous for 'em."

The young hunter watched as his father marched past the torches marking where their village was, the pickaxe resting on the white shoulder pads of his armor. The feeling of dread resettled itself into Strom's stomach as he copied his father's movements and trudged into the cold, icy tundra. Only one thing ran through his mind.

 _I suggest ya git really good at dodgin'._

* * *

It was high noon, and absolutely nothing interesting had happened. The light buzzing of insects and the gentle trickling of streams were the only noises filling the air. No curious or vicious creatures crept through the dense undergrowth. Not a single leaf was out of place, torn, broken, or scarred. The land looked entirely sacred, untouched by even the tiniest sign of life. Bright, hot sunlight filtered through gently waving leaves, giving the unruly jungle a look much like a watercolor painting. Peaceful, beautiful. . .

And horribly anti-climatic for the ambitious hunter who had been sent there.

Seriously, all day the monster hunter had been scouring the expansive forests within what the Hunter's Guild had dubbed the Everwood, and still, nothing had showed up. She stamped through the dense woods, slicing away any pesky plants in her way with her carving knife as she explored. The hunter would have to take a break soon, her crimson Rathalos armor was becoming heavy and hot in the current weather. A trip back to camp with a well-done steak in her belly would do her some good. It was a wonder she never got lost in this blasted jungle. The trees loomed on forever, the cave-systems were terribly large, and the amount of supplies the Hunter's Guild had given her was a graceful zero.

Apparently, when the Guild wishes to send a hunter into the Everwood for research or any other reason, they decide it's not worth the effort to give them some supplies and instead make them pack everything for themselves. Perhaps to save the supplies for more dire missions, perhaps for some dumb reason, who knew? All the young woman did know was that it was complete and utter bullshit. Especially for the hunt they sent her on. Honestly, it was a wonder they even gave the hunters a camp for this kind of thing. And to think, a few days ago, she was excited to go out into the large, mostly unexplored landscape for the first time.

When she had first received this mission directly from the Guild, it had seemed like there would be much more going on than what had actually ended up happening. There were reports of strange roars echoing through the jungle, with odd activity and many wooded areas completely decimated. All who had reported this to the Guild said the same thing about their findings, that the roars were accompanied by the sky itself _completely darkening_ , as if a sudden eclipse had appeared, and that, as soon as someone went out to investigate, only a destroyed plot of land was left behind as evidence. So, of course, when the Guild approached the prodigious hunter about investigating for herself, Arya was happy to accept. She wasn't the only one being sent out, of course. They had several hunters out in each known area of the Everwood, and each hunter was in charge of reporting any suspicious activity in their sector. Given how big Arya's section was, it certainly felt like she was alone in this.

If only she had realized exactly how deceptively _boring_ this mission ended up being.

Days had passed since the start of her investigation, and no sign of the new monster showed up. The only large monsters she ran into were the ever-too-common Velocidromes and the occasional, ape-like Kechawacha. Man, were those gigantic monkeys annoying. Hopping and swinging everywhere, coating her in heavy, gooey snot. Gross.

Arya sighed as she sliced a large, noisy red beetle out of the air, practically tearing it to bits with her longsword. Stupid Bnahabra. They are always buzzing and flying around everywhere, darting this way and that, trying to sting passerby and inject them with paralytic venom. While it sounded fairly terrifying to maybe children and young people, they were just a gigantic nuisance to even the most common hunter, especially when one had to try and gather their wings. The bugs were so damn fragile.

The hunter worked her way back to the temporary camp, knowing that she would just drive herself mad if she continued without a break again. She may have been used to running long distances in heavy armor, even in extremely hot and cold temperatures, but going out this long in deceptively hot temperatures would not do her good, especially if she wanted to preserve her cold drinks. Arya backtracked through the area, her boots squelching on sticky mud and destroying innocent ferns that dared to be in her path. Upon reaching a small, trickling stream, she knelt down and took off her helmet, splashing her face with fresh, cool water. The period of refreshment was brief, however, as she quickly wiped the water droplets away from her blue eyes and replaced her helmet. After all, despite how accustomed she was to hunting, she certainly didn't want to be caught off guard with her helmet removed. Even if she was good at rolling out of the way of a monster attack, she still occasionally got tossed about.

Just as she stood back up and brushed the dirt off of her silver greaves, she heard the faint sound of thumping feet, the snap of twigs (or _branches_ depending on the monster), and a shuffling, huffing sound. _Something_ was nearby, that was for sure. Arya unsheathed her sword, taking a round, smooth stone out of her item pouch and running it along the blade of her weapon a couple of times. It was always good to keep one's weapon sharp before approaching a monster. She tossed the whetstone aside once she finished sharpening her weapon, the once smooth surface now scratched and unusable. The hunter stood to her full height, drawing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath before following the sound of the creature.

Maybe this time she would finally find something interesting.

* * *

 **Ooooh look at that! New character! XD**

 **Don't get me wrong, the story will still focus primarily on Strom, given his name in the title and everything, but Arya here will help speed the plot along and hint at some things from her side of the world. And, of course, start up some actual hunting since Strom is going to need A LOT of time to actually be okay with trying to hunt like he's supposed to.**

 **We're working on that, trust me!**


	3. Lost and Found

**Hey everyone! So this chapter ended up taking longer than expected, got caught up signing for new classes and applying for schools. But it's up now! And to compensate, this ended up being a really long chapter. Longer than my usual ones. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"H-Holy shit it's c-c-cold!" Strom gasped as he trudged through the thick snow. Signs of a blizzard were everywhere, the sparsely wooded land was covered in a thick, nearly untouched blanket of snow that easily went up to the hunters' knees. A few tracks from small creatures dotted the otherwise barren landscape. They took advantage of the small period of tranquility, Strom assumed.

"Well, why don't ya use yer hot drink?" Varick asked, glancing at the young man and interrupting his brief look of the area before them. The seasoned hunter, surprisingly, didn't seem affected at all by the cold air.

Strom nodded, his tanned face flushing even darker in embarrassment. He had forgotten about the pouch filled with useful items tied around his furred waistcoat. He carefully stuck the handle of his pickaxe into the deep, powdery snow, watched as it tilted and slid slightly in the ice, and then fished through his leather sack. Eventually, he found a small, red flask and uncorked it. The sharp smell of peppers wafted into his nose, almost making the boy sneeze. He was glad he didn't, he felt as if it was so cold his snot would have frozen as soon as it left his round, reddened nose. He downed the concoction in one gulp, fighting back coughs as the mashed up hot peppers within burned his throat. Eyes watered up as his mouth began to sting and his throat began to itch. Within a few moments, however, the spicy feeling dulled into a comfortable, almost homely warmth that spread to the rest of his body.

The young man exhaled softly, glad that the cold became much more tolerable. It was still freezing, but now he wasn't afraid of turning into an icicle. After Strom retrieved his pickaxe from the bed of snow, he glanced at his father again. "W-Why don't y-you need a h-h-hot d-drink?"

"Jewels!" Varick said with a proud puff of his chest, "Imbued with the power of ol' Rathalos himself!"

"R-Really?" Strom's eyes were wide with wonder. He had heard stories of the great, crimson Wyvern, the King of the Skies, but he had yet to actually see one in person. He hoped he'd never actually see one, no matter how amazing the sight would be.

"Nah. Honestly, I don't know how them blacksmiths get these things to stay warm all the time, I just know it's a hell of a lot more convenient than carryin' around all them potions."

"W-Where can I-I g-g-get those?"

"You can have Sindri make 'em," Varick said, " _once_ ya start huntin' more. Then ya can pay him to fuse it with yer armor."

Strom sighed softly. Anything actually useful required that he become an actual monster hunter to get them. They all said it was because hunters had to earn their keep and their gear and basically everything else, but the greenhorn thought all this exclusive behavior was ridiculous. It was probably one of the big reasons new hunters were so likely to die before they even made a name for themselves. _Quality over quantity . . ._ Was that really how it worked in the hunting business? All the more reason for Strom to want out.

His father continued their march through the thick snow, clearing the way for them as well as swiping at the powder every now and then to check for petrified logs or frost-burned plants that he could teach his son about. It would be a long walk until they got to the mines in the tundra. The majority of their trek through the snowy wonderland went uninterrupted. Varick would pause every now and then and show Strom a plant or an insect that was of use to hunters, let him grab a few, and then they would continue their journey again. Quite a few times, Strom would nearly jump out of his skin because he heard a noise, only for it to end up being absolutely nothing. It was exasperating for the seasoned hunter, but he did his best to be patient for the boy. He was trying, and that's all that mattered to Varick.

It was only when they reached the top of a high platform that the older hunter stopped their walk, letting the young man catch his breath from the climb. After Strom got a small breather, Varick led him towards a large, shimmering wall of ice, one that almost reflected the morning sunlight right into their eyes. Grouped beside the blue-white wall rested a small formation of glittering, turquoise crystals, jagged and chipped from the harsh winds that sliced over the platform. It was quite amazing to look at, incredibly shiny and mesmerizing. Strom couldn't help but smile a little as he looked first at the crystals, and then at the view behind them. The tundra stretched out for miles, and he could see the land's features much better from their viewpoint now. While most of the land was covered in a sparkling blanket of freshly powdered snow, the further the land stretched, the less snow there was, eventually giving way to the occasional splotch of grass peeping up. Herds of the large, gentle Popo and the small, graceful Kelbi glided and hopped over the fields, chewing up what plants and berries they could find in the snow.

It was beautiful.

Maybe coming all the way out here wasn't as bad as Strom thought it would be. His father was right, the day was calm, there were no large monsters, and last night's blizzard made everything even more breathtaking. He finally turned back to his father when he heard Varick explaining the crystal formation.

"This right here is one of the many areas ya can mine stuff from," his father patiently explained to the apprentice hunter, "There's more in the mines but I figured it'd be good to stop here on the way, ya know?"

Strom nodded slowly, letting the head of his pickaxe rest on the ground for a bit as he leaned on the handle slightly. That tool was getting kinda heavy after all this walking, and he was sure the only reason his tall, sturdy dad wasn't all out of breath and tired was because he was used to this life. He looked at the glittering crystals again. If it weren't for their slightly darker hue, he would have mistaken them for ice. "W-What are these?" Strom asked.

"Ice crystals," Varick said, "I'll let ya figure out why they're called that." He chuckled in amusement, "Count yerself lucky, boy, most novice hunters won't get this stuff until later. You'll have an edge over 'em for that. Try takin' a swing."

Strom hesitated, a little hesitant to ruin the beautiful formation resting before him. That and, well, he wasn't entirely sure he could _actually_ break the crystal formation apart, and he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his dad any further than he already had. With trembling arms, he hefted up his pickaxe and swung the pick into the crystals. The mining tool bounced off with a harmless clink, the crystals not even scratched from the impact. Oh boy.

"The hell was that?" Varick asked, snickering softly at the sight, "We ain't havin' a tea party, here. C'mon! Put yer back into it, like this!" The seasoned hunter held up his pickaxe, and with a mighty swing, brought the pick down onto the glimmering rock with a loud clang that echoed throughout the area. A well-sized chunk of the ice crystal broke off and plopped onto the powdery snow. Varick then bent down and picked it up, showing it to Strom before stuffing it into his bag.

The young man's face turned a bright red in embarrassment. He was already off to a horrible start, wonderful. He took a deep breath and tried again, putting more force into his swing as his father had demonstrated. The pickaxe swung weakly again, bouncing off and leaving little to no marks as evidence of his failure.

"Okay, we're gonna hafta try a different approach here," his father said, scratching his chin in contemplation, "Name somethin' that really pisses ya off."

Strom looked down, tracing patterns into the ice with his foot, "M-My st-stutter," he said quietly.

When he heard his father's voice, he didn't even have to look up to know that Varick had a sympathetic expression on his face, "Well," he said, "what if I told ya that swinging yer pickaxe with all yer might would help get rid o' that stutter?"

"It w-wouldn't," Strom said bitterly.

"I know, but pretend that it would. Take all yer anger on it and put it into yer swing, see if that makes it easier to mine."

Strom tightened his grip on the pickaxe handle, focusing again on the ice crystals in front of him. He swung up in preparation, then brought it down with a hefty grunt. Just as the head of the tool began to fall, the glittering stone formation began to morph in front of his eyes. A familiar sight, dark, beady eyes and a mocking smirk. The face multiplied, grossly changing what was once beautiful into a harsh memory. Lilting laughter, high pitched and cruel, echoed in his head. And then the doubt began to race in. _You're an embarrassment. You can't even speak normally._ He faltered mid-swing, the pick harmlessly bouncing off again. This time, it only pissed the greenhorn hunter off more. He clenched his teeth and hit the crystals again. And again. Over and over, each time harder and more forceful than the last. With each swing, the stones began to break, and a large chunk finally broke apart with a satisfying _crack_. The image faded, and the crystals were there again. The piece Strom had mined off fell to the white ground harmlessly, sending a puff of powder into the air.

The young man stood there for a few moments, panting softly before looking between the now shattered crystal formation and his pickaxe, dropping the tool in shock and holding his head in his hands. He let out a shuddering breath. He had _never_ , in all his life, felt so angry or so . . . violent. Strom felt his heartbeat racing, feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest.

Stranded in a sea of fear and unease, only a large, warm hand resting on his back managed to pull him back out. "Ya okay, kiddo?" the kind, yet gruff voice of his father echoed in his ears. He felt himself calming down just by listening to him.

"Y-Yeah . . . I'm fine." He let out a shuddering breath, the air clouding around his face as soon as it left his lips.

"Rattle yer arms a bit there?"

". . . Y-Yeah."

"It happens. The feelin' goes away after some practice, don't worry." Varick smiled and picked up the broken off ice crystals, handing them over to Strom and gently placing the two shards into his hands. They were frigid to the touch, even with the lingering heat from the drink numbing the cold. "Ya earned these. Remember that ya do have the strength and potential to do this stuff. Keep it up."

Strom looked over at his father in surprise, his eyes widening in awe, "Thank you, d-dad." He carefully placed the crystals into his item pouch and clamped the flap shut. A timid smile slowly spread on his face.

"No need," Varick said with his classic, toothy grin, "There's more where that came from. Mines are just over there," he pointed at a large, dark cave entrance a few yards away. "I reckon we can find some basic ores in there, take a lunch break and call it a day, deal?" He glanced over at his son, but the young man seemed to be preoccupied with something else, eyes darting around in worry. "Strom?"

"Shh!" Strom whispered, hurried and quick as he froze in a defensive position, "I h-hear something."

"What?"

"L-Like t-twigs snapping. S-Something's here, d-dad."

"Really, this again? There ain't anythin' out there, boy. The beasties don't feel like trudging through all this snow."

"W-we d-don't know that for sure!" he protested, "W-What if s-something c-came out to e-eat? What if it's h-here n-now and wants to k-k-kill us?! W-what if -"

He was cut off by a long, low growl. The empty land only amplified the sound and made it worse, making it reverberate for quite some time. It was deep, deeper than any noise Strom was used to. That could only mean one thing to the young man; a nasty monster just arrived to eat the duo up for lunch.

Strom let out a shrill shriek, jumping up to his feet and darting this way and that, kicking snow into the air in his panic. "We n-need to h-hide!" he whimpered, "C-C'mon, d-dad! Hurry!" He wanted to run for the mine entrance, it'd be easier to lose whatever wanted to attack, but he couldn't leave his dad behind.

Varick, on the other hand, seemed to have no interest in running. He sat as still and collected as ever in the snow, his face resting in his hand as he shook his head, "Strom," he began.

"There's no t-time! We h-have to m-move!"

Varick exhaled in frustration, his voice becoming more stern, "Strom, it's not-"

"I don't want us to die, dad!" Strom interrupted again, gripping his father's shoulders frantically.

"Strom!" Varick barked, grabbing the boy and holding him still. The young hunter froze, having very rarely ever heard his father raise his voice at him. He panted heavily, having worked himself up by comically prancing through the snow in an attempt to get away. Varick exhaled slowly, "Look," he said, placing his hands on the sides of Strom's head and turning it in the direction of the growl.

There, having just climbed over the ridge, were three little Melynx. They looked exactly the same as Felynes did, except their markings were reversed, fur mostly as black as the shadows they hid in with a few cream colored markings here and there. Indeed, the "growl" Strom had heard wasn't even a large monster growl at all. One of the Melynx had picked up one of the smaller shards of the ice crystal, and its friend beside it had tackled the other in an attempt to take the shard for itself. The growl was just the two arguing in their own language as they hissed, tussled about, and kicked up snow. The third, however, was staring at the two hunters with large, curious blue eyes, having heard Strom's commotion.

The young man felt his face heat up in an embarrassed blush that surely gave his entire face the color of a tomato. "Oh," he said quietly.

"Yer damn right 'Oh'. They ain't gonna kill us," Varick said in exasperation. It was so frustrating to see this sort of reaction so soon after he told and showed Strom the potential he had in the field. "The worse they can do is steal yer shit. Probably heard the minin' going on and went to check it out."

"W-Why would they st-steal from us?"

"'Cause they like shiny things, I don't frickin' know." Varick pinched the bridge of his nose, the incessant meowing of the quarreling cats began ragging on his brain. "Let's get to the mines 'fore they decide to follow us, if they get too close just give 'em a good kick, they'll back off."

Strom seemed a little hesitant at that, "B-But I d-don't w-wanna hurt them."

"They get smacked around by large monsters on a daily basis, they can handle a lil' kick. Ya wanna survive out here? Ya gotta stop holding yerself back with feelings like that." The seasoned hunter sighed and turned towards the cave, starting the brief walk over there, "'Cmon, Strom."

The boy frowned in worry, staring at the ground and avoiding looking at the broad back of his father. The day had started out all right, but he let his fears and worries get in the way of his common sense. All it did was make a fool out of him, as usual. It felt like all he did ended up disappointing one person or another. The villagers, disappointed that their heroic hunter had a son who was so . . . _meek._ And his parents, disappointed that no matter what Strom did, he would somehow manage to do something or another that was just downright _humiliating._

Varick was extremely patient, and Strom was always incredibly grateful for that. Even so, everyone had their limits, everyone had a point where they just couldn't sit back and wait anymore. It had taken the young hunter _this_ long just to manage to step outside without having a panic attack upon doing so. How long would it take him to finally stop being afraid of every little thing? To finally stop jumping at the tiniest, imaginary shadow? Strom just wasn't cut out for this.

He had trudged slowly behind his father, so drowned in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the sudden silence. In fact, the young hunter was only snapped out of his stupor by a sharp stinging sensation in his right leg. "Ah!" he gasped in surprise quickly looking down to find the source of the irritating, prickling feeling.

There, clutching tightly onto his thick, leather greaves, hung a Melynx, crawling up onto his leg in an attempt to grab at his pouch. "H-Hey!" the boy exclaimed, "Get off!" He shook his leg rapidly, trying to fling off the cat, and then using his hands to try to physically push the furry creature off when simply shaking didn't work. The Melynx hissed in response to this, baring its sharp, glistening fangs and trying to bite at the young hunter's fingers. Strom hopped around on the other leg frantically as the cat's grip remained firm, and by the time Strom tried to butt off the Melynx with his shield, its friends had already reached them and tackled his other leg, knocking the boy into the ground.

He landed face first in the soft, yet frigid, snow, his pouch thankfully staying in place thanks to thick ties that restrained it to his dark brown waistcoat. Even so, the petite trio of thieves worked quickly with deft paws, unfastening the flap to his item pouch and rummaging through his stuff with an expert's speed. "S-Stop that!" Strom huffed indignantly, with a tint of panic at the conflict, swinging his shield deliriously at the three cats. They finally backed off with low, angry growls when one of the three Melynx was sent briefly flying away with a good hit to the abdomen, spiraling into the snow and landing face first with a _poof!_ The ball of black fur sat up, turquoise eyes in a mild daze before it shook the snow out of its ears. Then, it scampered away on all fours, the other two following after once Strom swung his shield defensively again. The young man, panting softly from the endeavor, stood up on shaky legs and brushed the white snow off of him. That was terrifying. He may never be able to trust cats again.

"Ya all right, kiddo?" the rough yet warm voice of his father asked gently.

Strom stood there in disbelief, his eyes wide, staring at the tracks left behind by his assailants, "I just g-got m-mugged by c-c-cats." He furrowed his brows in concern, going over what just happened in his mind before quickly searching through his bag to make sure everything was there. "D-damn it!" Strom cursed under his breath, "Th-they stole m-my ice c-crystals!"

Varick chuckled softly upon hearing that, a reaction that only disheartened Strom even more. The seasoned hunter shook his head in amusement, "Hoo boy, looks like they're givin' ya the full initiation."

The boy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, looking over at his dad as if he had gone mad, "W-What d-do you mean?"

"Well, if ya want them crystals of yours back, yer gonna have to track them kitties down and snag 'em." Varick paused for a moment, scratching his chin lightly in contemplation before he continued with a sly little grin, "I'll check out the mines, make sure no nasty beasties snuck in 'fore we did. Think ya can find them thieves and make it back here?"

Strom couldn't help but frown lightly, understanding his father's game. Varick just wanted to make the boy understand that he could go out into the tundra alone and be perfectly fine. Another show of potential and a boost of confidence for Strom if it was pulled off successfully. Still, the greenhorn hunter was extremely hesitant to even start exploring all on his own, let alone stray so far away from his father in search of malicious kitties. Sure, their attack didn't even scratch him with the help of his armor, but what if they had jumped for his face, which was, much to Strom's unease, largely open and unprotected? They could easily jump up and claw out his eyes, disfigure his face permanently, and stain the pure snow with his blood. A chill crept up his spine at the mere thought of it. He opened his mouth slightly to protest and thoroughly explain why it was a really bad idea.

But he stopped himself.

 _You're an embarrassment._

His eyes watered ever so slightly, chilling the skin around his eyes as they made contact with the frozen air. His voice cracked as he spoke, "Y-Yeah . . . I c-can do that."

Varick smiled and heartily clapped him on the back, causing the young man to, yet again, stumble slightly from the impact, "Atta boy! Ya know where to find me of ya need anythin'." At that, he parted ways with his meager son, descending into the dark cave as Strom stood there alone in the snow, shaking pitifully in his boots.

It was now or never.

With a deep breath, and a lot of willpower, Strom turned away and began to follow the cat tracks.

* * *

Arya followed the sound of the shuffling noises, pushing through the thick, unruly undergrowth. The lack of trimmed paths irritated her to no end, but she supposed that it was an expected trait of a dense, unexplored jungle. Regardless, excitement of the hunt spurred her on. Her muscles were tense, anticipating the approaching action, her sword was drawn, glinting in the afternoon light, and her eyes were narrowed and concentrated. It wouldn't be long before she met her prey.

She burst through the woods, her excited grin quickly changing to an exasperated scowl.

Well . . . at least it wasn't a Velocidrome.

Standing there, in the center of one of the Everwood's numerous clearings, stood a frog-like beast easily the size of a small hut. Its slimy, ridged red skin had a bright sheen to it in the sunlight as it shuffled about the area on four, black, webbed feet, swaying its massive, tusked head from side to side. Its large jaw jutted out from the size of it's bottom tusks, which curled menacingly toward the sky and ended in sharp points. A beast the Guild had dubbed the Tetsucabra. Not the most intimidating beast Arya had come across in her career, but it was better than what she had encountered so far.

The young hunter sheathed her sword, sighing in disappointment. This wasn't the monster she was tasked to find, not by a long shot. She wasn't going to waste her time and resources on it, not when she had no shortage of monster materials from this particular beast.

She was going to turn back and head towards the base camp for her much-needed break, when the Tetsucabra turned around and faced her. When her eyes laid upon that large, rather ugly face, Arya knew something was wrong with it. She wasn't able to get a good enough look to see exactly _what_ unsettled her about the creature, though, as it reared its ugly head and let out an ear-splitting roar. Arya instantly flinched and clasped her hands to her ears. The creature's roar sounded more like a shrill scream of agony, one that pierced into her skull and caused her head to throb in pain.

Before she could even recover from the ringing in her ears, and before she could react, the monster launched itself at her with incredible speed, clearing the ground easily with its powerful haunches. It slammed into her, its large maw knocking her to the ground before the Tetsucabra slammed a clawed foot onto her chest. Arya struggled, the wind knocked out of her. She had never seen any of these creatures move so fast and powerfully before, like something was making it stronger.

It thrashed its giant head frantically, trying to gouge her with its large tusks. Heavily bloodshot eyes gave a terrifying glare as thick, oozing black liquid foamed at its mouth and dripped onto the ground around the hunter. Arya widened her eyes, struggling further and trying to avoid the black saliva. She strained her hand to reach into her item pouch, struggling to avoid getting her face mauled by a monster frog. Finally, her hand clasped around a small sphere, and she pulled it out, throwing it as hard as she could at the monster's wrinkled, red face. As the silvery capsule broke, a poof of brown smoke wrapped around its face, bringing with the smoke the ripe smell of monster shit.

The beast recoiled at the scent, backing away and grunting, pawing at its face to try and get rid of the foul smoke. Arya took the opportunity to scramble to her feet, slowly getting air back into her lungs. With a gulp of fresh air (away from the smell of dung), she drew her longsword and rushed at the creature while it was still distracted. She sliced into its legs with a swift movement of her sword, causing the monster to flinch. Vibrant, almost purple blood sprayed out of the new wounds, sprinkling the dirt near it. The Tetsucabra flinched, letting out a high-pitched yelp of pain that immediately transformed into a demonic growl. It whirled around, slicing at Arya with its uninjured leg. Naturally ready for any attack, Arya rolled out of the way, quickly launching herself back into the battle and slicing at the beast's haunches and stubby tail.

More yelps resounded, echoing around them. In a quick, jerky movement, the monster kicked Arya away, sending her flying across the clearing and landing with a hard thud on the ground. She gasped for air, rolling to her hands and knees and spitting a little blood onto the grass. Her armor had helped for most of the impact, but she wouldn't get out of this unscathed. As she recovered from the impact, the beast tore into a nearby boulder with its sturdy tusks, soon cradling a large chunk of stone in its jaws. It bit down on the stone with a hearty _crunch_ , sending pieces of rock flying towards the hunter before she had time to get up. Thinking quickly, Arya ducked and sprawled flat on the ground, avoiding most of the projectiles. A particularly sharp stone grazed across her arm, slicing into the armor and cutting into her skin as it passed. She clenched her jaw and winced, pushing onto her feet and ignoring the sharp pain as she drew her sword again. Just as she got up, the beast was barreling towards her again, leaping forward with strong hind legs. She barely had any time to dive out of the way again.

She scrambled to her feet, just as she heard the distant roar of another creature. The Everwood was coming alive now, it seemed. _Dammit!_ It wouldn't be long until another large monster showed up to see what all the ruckus was about, and she couldn't take on two monsters at once. Not with how this Tetsucabra was acting. Arya wanted to get some samples but there was no way she could do right now. With a clenched jaw, she gripped tightly onto another metallic sphere and slammed it into the ground, sending white smoke everywhere around the immediate area and making a run for it, climbing up a steep rock face and getting the hell out of there. A quick glance back showed the Tetsucabra attacking a new monster with a ferocity unheard of for their particular species.

Just what the hell was going on here?

* * *

The young hunter, trekking through the deep snow, wielding his sword at an untrained, awkward angle and jumping at the slightest noise, learned some fairly fundamental things about what it took to be a monster hunter, and how drastically unqualified he was. For example: he sucked at tracking.

In the time Strom and his father had traveled to the mines, smaller monsters started to peek out of their holes and go about their daily business again, leaving thousands of different tracks in the snow. Strom, the inexperienced hunter he was, couldn't tell which track was which, and managed to turn himself around several times by following the wrong monster trails. It was a mistake that he quickly corrected by turning tail and running the other direction to safety. He had almost given up several times, and easily would have were it not for the fact that he didn't want to embarrass his father for a _third_ time that day.

His perseverance paid off as he eventually stumbled across a small tunnel entrance, the surrounding area was covered with little paw prints, dragged out more with the height of the snow. Faint sounds of meowing echoed to his ears from within. It was occupied, and he feared that he'd be attacked on sight if he crawled in there, potentially beaten to death with the little sticks the Melynx carried with them. Maybe he should just turn back? Forget about the crystals, since he could mine for more? Strom glanced behind him and then stared into the tunnel again, a frown gracing his features. He'd already made it so far. . .

And if he made it back empty handed, he'd feel like a complete failure.

The young man sighed softly, crouching down on his hands and knees and peering carefully into the tunnel. It was a warm camp, with a little cat-sized fire in the center, the stone walls and dirt floor glowing a welcoming orange from the light. He couldn't see all the features of the cave within very well, but he saw small figures moving around inside. If Strom crawled through like this, he'd surely get a face full of claws. He grabbed his shield and held it in front of his face before cautiously and defensively crawling inside, quickly sitting up as soon as he was on the other side and looking at the cats cautiously.

To his surprise, the cat camp was large and spacious enough for Strom to stand up to his full height, and the occupants within weren't all thieving Melynx. In fact, a good majority of them were Felynes simply minding their own business, sitting by the fire, jumping delightedly at small bugs flying inside, meowing in their little voices. It was kinda cute, despite the trauma earlier that day. Perhaps most of the Melynx were outside, looking for more victims to rob.

Strom let out a sigh of relief, but held his shield defensively still when a few of the Melynx inhabitants turned their big, greedy eyes towards him. "D-Don't you d-dare," he muttered quietly, the cave doing just enough to carry his voice. They blinked, then turned their heads and continued with what they were doing. Maybe they just didn't like being violent in their own homes? He couldn't understand.

He walked towards the end of the cave, skirting around the fireplace and being careful not to step on any tails as he cautiously approached a large, crudely crafted stone cat statue. It was featureless and made out of rocks that only remotely resembled the body parts of a cat. If cats didn't have limbs and faces, anyway. The dark, cool stone was decorated with messily drawn, swirling patterns around the body and head with what Strom _hoped_ was nothing more than innocent, red paint. Scattered around the base of the statue were various little trinkets and items, ranging from potions to traps to different kinds of plants, and there, sparkling at the top of the haphazard pile rested two, glittering, turquoise crystals.

The boy smiled slightly, walking over and carefully picking up his crystals, securing them in his pouch and glaring defensively at the nearby Melynx who eyed him again. They're the reason he was sent on this wild hunt to begin with. He looked at the pile again, staring at the contents. Everything there was either valuable or useful to hunters, and they were left completely unused in this hidden cave. It'd be a waste to leave them there, and Strom knew that everything in this pile didn't belong to the Melynx. He reached his hand out and rested it on a large, orange vial, a useful potion that dulled the sting of monster attacks. Maybe he could just take a few of the things here and go about his business? They didn't seem to be going back to their original owners any time soon.

Strom picked up the potion, inspecting it carefully and frowning gently. Would it really be all right for him to take it? It'd certainly be better being used than just sitting in a collection, right? He didn't have much time to dwell on it when he heard a low, shuddering groan. A sound of great agony that very clearly didn't belong to any of the cats. The young man panicked, his arms flailing out of instinct. The jerky motion caused the orange vial to tumble to the cave floor, shattering and scattering its contents everywhere. A few other potions tumbled after it, crashing into the ground. Cats wailed and hissed in surprise, scattering this way and that and glaring at the young hunter. Strom, too caught up in the terror of whatever he had heard, whirled around, drawing his sword and raising his shield, trembling as he frantically looked around the cave. A large monster couldn't get in here, right?

Well . . . _most_ of them couldn't.

He peered into the darkest reaches of the cave, eyes squinting to see better. There, huddled in the side farthest from the novice hunter was a big pile of thick brown fur, larger than the cats in the cave, perhaps even a little larger than Strom. It was shifting ever so slightly, but every move brought out another soft, groan of pain. Strom cautiously moved forward, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it would jump right out of his chest. A lump formed in his throat, chills crept up his spine, and his breathing became shallow the closer he got to the misshapen lump of fur. With his muscles poised to run, the young man carefully tapped the top of the furry creature with his shield, resulting in a sharp gasp of pain and another shift from the creature.

Strom jolted back slightly in surprise, before he saw a human foot barely peeking out of the thick, tangled fur. With wide eyes, the boy slowly grabbed at the pelt and lifted it up, revealing a curled up, trembling, pale man not much older than Strom himself. Strom gasped softly, shocked at the number of horrific gashes sprawling across the man's body, large tears ripped through both his clothing and his skin. The wounds were swollen, bright red and still oozing with dark, tinted blood. The young hunter felt like he was going to be sick at the sight and carefully covered up the wounded man with the fur coat he had taken off.

How in the world was this man still alive?


End file.
